


Braced

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6035434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sena’s not late, is certain he’s even a few minutes early, but Shin opens the door as fast as if he was waiting on the other side and with such an intense expression on his face that Sena’s nervous smile fades into panic immediately." Sena comes over to Shin's apartment and Shin is more impatient than he needs to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braced

Sena didn’t anticipate this was quite the way the evening was going to go.

It’s not that he didn’t know what the plan was. Shin isn’t the most subtle of people even at the best of times, and “You should bring a change of clothes to spend the night” was stunningly straightforward even for him. Sena’s been alternately blushing and smiling about it all day when he thinks about it; the idea of staying at Shin’s apartment overnight is thrilling in itself, just for the privacy and expanse of time it offers. It’ll be nice, Sena thinks, to have hours to spend together, to be able to take their time instead of rushing through the adrenaline-fueled interludes they’ve had so far: stolen kisses in the shadows of buildings or the hurried grab of hands on clothes when they have the relative luxury of ten or fifteen minutes alone. They even managed to have sex twice, so far, but both times were stressful, either due to the adrenaline of inexperience (the first time) or the insistence of other commitments on their time (the second). The indulgence of an entire evening seems almost impossible, certainly more than Sena can stand to think about for very long at all if he’s to maintain focus and decency, and so by the time he arrives at Shin’s front door he’s thought about almost everything he can think of _other_ than what is waiting for him on the other side.

Shin opens the door as soon as Sena knocks. That’s a surprise, first of all; Sena’s not late, is certain he’s even a few minutes early, but Shin opens the door as fast as if he was waiting on the other side and with such an intense expression on his face that Sena’s nervous smile fades into panic immediately.

“Hi Shin,” Sena starts, his voice skidding embarrassingly high on the sudden rush of concern that hits his veins. “Y-you asked me--” and that’s as far as he gets before Shin is reaching out, his arm snapping forward as fast as if they are in the middle of a game. His palm hits Sena’s chest with enough force to knock the air out of him, and Sena’s still gasping with shock from that when Shin’s fingers drag and tighten into a fist on his shirt. There’s a pull, a sharp surge of motion, and Sena stumbles forward, nearly tripping over the edge of the entrance as he comes past the front door and into the entryway of Shin’s apartment.

“Seijurou--” he starts, his voice reaching new heights of concern, but “Sena,” Shin is saying, rumbling the sound low enough that Sena can feel the vibration of it purring over all his skin like a physical touch. “You’re here.”

“Yes?” Sena tries, because this is a true statement but Shin is still staring at him like he’s something wholly unexpected, like his very existence is fascinating on some level beyond that of a typical high school student. “You asked me to come over.”

“Yes,” Shin says, and reaches out without looking to shove the door shut. “I did” and when he pushes this time it’s Sena’s shoulders that end up against the door, very shortly followed by Shin’s lips landing against Sena’s mouth. Sena’s eyes go wide before he can think to close them, his throat tightening on a startled whine of sound, but Shin is kissing him and that’s enough distraction to override his initial shock at the force of it. His eyes shut, his shoulders sag, and even the sound of his bag sliding off his shoulder to fall to the floor isn’t enough to pull his attention away from the warm slide of Shin’s mouth on his. Shin’s hand closes at the other’s hip, his fingers pushing up to fit under the edge of Sena’s shirt as they tighten into a bracing hold, and Sena shudders against the support of the door. Shin pulls away but it’s not far enough; Sena’s still too near to see anything but the dark of Shin’s eyes, the shadows that spread to eclipse the focus in his gaze as he stares at Sena’s mouth like it’s all he can see.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice so rough on the words he sounds almost angry, would pass for such were it not for how gently his fingers are sliding over Sena’s skin, with how carefully his index finger is tracing against the line of the other boy’s hip.

Sena swallows and tips his chin in a rushed nod. “Yeah.” He reaches up with the arm freed by the fall of his bag to curl his fingers around the back of Shin’s neck. Shin shudders under his touch, his lashes falling heavy against his cheeks as his eyes shut, and Sena can feel the power of the contact whip through him like fire, urging his heartbeat to speed out of control as he arches up closer for more. He’s the one who initiates the contact, this time, his mouth that claims the imprint of a kiss off Shin’s lips, and even when Shin rocks in closer Sena’s doing as much of the pulling as Shin is pushing. Sena can feel the flex of Shin’s movements under the cover of his shirt, can feel the shift of his shoulders and the tremor along his stomach as he presses flush against Sena’s chest; they’re so near Sena is sure Shin will be able to feel the pounding of his heart, like his adrenaline will telegraph itself directly through the insufficient barrier of their shirts.

“Seijurou,” Sena manages, fitting the words into the gap between kisses, while Shin is momentarily distracted from his mouth by his attention to the movement of his hands instead. His fingers are tracing up Sena’s chest, urging his shirt deliberately higher instead of accidentally; Sena’s skin prickles into heat, his hips tip themselves forward off the support of the door of their own accord. “ _Ah_.”

“I missed you,” Shin rumbles, that one phrase enough to stand as reason and explanation all on its own. His hand is heavy against Sena’s chest, the press of it enough to pin the other boy to the door; Sena can’t breathe except to push against the weight of it, to arch against the calluses of Shin’s palms catching against the sweat-damp of his skin. Shin ducks his head, seeking the shape of another kiss, and Sena turns his head up into it, dragging against Shin’s neck to keep himself up with the distraction of Shin’s fingers dragging over his skin. Shin’s gentle with his mouth, careful in the friction he gives and the slide of his tongue when he licks against Sena’s lower lip; it makes Sena shiver, to be so delicately treated and held so utterly immobile, and then Shin’s hips rock forward to grind against him and Sena groans too-loud into Shin’s mouth. It’s enough to make him flush hot just hearing the sound he makes, but Shin rumbles something incoherent and unmistakably appreciative and presses against him again, and Sena goes far hotter than embarrassment could account for. Shin’s hard against his leg, so hot Sena can feel the shape of him right through the shorts he’s wearing, and Sena might be wearing more but that just gives him the advantage of friction to press himself against. He arches forward off the door, angling himself against the resistance of Shin’s leg, and Shin sighs appreciation and lets his hand fall from Sena’s chest to his hip instead.

“Here,” he says, the command so simple Sena can’t even make sense of it for a moment, but then Shin’s hand is sliding down his jeans and along his leg instead, and when Shin tugs against Sena’s thigh Sena moves obediently to lift his leg as indicated. There’s a moment of gravity shifting, Sena’s balance careening sideways and off from over his feet; and then he grabs at Shin’s shoulder, and clings to the support of the other’s arm, and Shin is lifting him off the floor by his knee, rocking forward to pin Sena to the door as he urges the other’s leg up and around his hip. Sena leans at the door, holds himself at Shin’s shoulder, and from there it’s an easy motion to slide his other leg free from between Shin’s thighs and up to hook around the other’s hips. Then his balance is back, his legs straining with the angle of the position, and Shin groans appreciation and presses hard against him, fitting the heat of his cock against the inside angle of Sena’s legs as smoothly as if neither of them are wearing anything at all. Sena shudders at the friction, his back arching to push him closer, and Shin’s hands steady at his hips to hold him still against the upward thrust he takes with his hips. There’s a drag of friction, heat spiraling out into Sena’s blood, and Sena hears himself make a strange shattered sound before he realizes he’s reacting at all, the sound coming from his chest like it’s being pushed from him on the grind of Shin’s hips against him. The motion is too suggestive, too _deliberate_ , demonstrating the single-minded focus Sena is so used to seeing in Shin, as if he’s perhaps forgotten entirely that they’ll need to take the time to get their clothes off before they continue.

“Seijurou,” Sena says, and Shin groans against his shoulder, a sound as hot on appreciation as it is steady on acknowledgment. Shin moves again, grinding hard against Sena, and Sena’s head goes back, his eyes going wide on the rush of distracting heat. “ _Ah_. Seijurou, wait, we should--”

“Let’s do it right here,” Shin suggests, cutting Sena off with the low rumble of words against his collar. He’s pressed so close Sena can feel the shape of him through his shorts, imagines he can feel the damp at the head of Shin’s cock catching against his own jeans. “I don’t want to wait.”

Sena takes a breath. They should move, probably, even Shin can’t be expected to hold him up against a wall for more than a few minutes, and certainly not while doing anything else. The bed will be more comfortable, he’s sure, and it will hardly take any time at all to stumble down the hallway and to the bed. Then he lets the air out, and thinks about Shin pushing him against the wall, about being pinned between the solid resistance of the door and the immoveable weight of Shin’s shoulders, and:

“Okay,” Sena says. “Let me get my jeans off” but Shin’s already moving as smoothly as if he expected Sena’s answer, drawing back from the door by the handful of inches Sena needs to untangle himself and get his feet back under him. His knees are shaky when he trusts his weight to them; it’s more of a relief than he wants to admit to have Shin’s hands bracing hard against his hips, the force enough that Sena’s sure he’d stay upright even if his legs truly did fail him. He lets his hold on Shin’s neck go, freeing his hands so he can reach down and fumble with the fly of his jeans, but Shin doesn’t let him go; he’s pressing in closer instead, ducking until Sena falls into the shadow of his shoulders, until the dark of his hair is catching the top of Sena’s bowed head, like he’s making a wall of his body to hem the other in. It should be alarming, would be if it were someone else; under the circumstances it’s just distractingly hot, so much so that Sena’s hands are shaking until it’s hard to get his zipper down enough to loosen his jeans around his hips.

“Here,” Sena manages, and Shin’s hands shift, his palms sliding up enough for his thumbs to fit under the top edge of the other’s jeans. Sena grabs at Shin’s shoulders again, bites back a groan as Shin pushes his pants down his hips, and Shin’s dropping lower, coming forward to lean against a knee in front of Sena as he strips his clothing off his legs. Sena catches a breath, delayed-reaction embarrassment catching him up as Shin comes eye-level with his hips and the flushed color of his cock, but Shin doesn’t even pause; he’s pushing Sena’s jeans past his ankles, letting the fabric puddle around the other’s feet until it’s a simple matter to step free of them. Sena moves without being told, still leaning hard against Shin’s shoulders to keep his balance over his unsteady knees, and Shin catches his leg as he steps free, pushing against the inside of his knee to brace Sena’s leg wide as he straightens in a single fluid movement. Sena’s foot skids on the floor, his balance vanishing again, but he’s half-ready for it this time; he doesn’t startle, at least, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins is still heat instead of the chill bite of panic. His shoulders shove against the door, Shin’s fingers drag at his leg, and then they’re falling back in line with each other, Shin stepping forward to press against Sena’s bare thighs while Sena catches his weight at the edge of Shin’s hips.

“Like this,” Shin breathes, approval layering rich in his throat, and this time when he rocks himself forward Sena can feel Shin’s cock catch against his, can feel the drag of heat against his bare skin as Shin moves. It makes his legs shake, tenses all along his thighs into an involuntary shudder, and Shin sighs something that sounds like satisfaction and reaches around to brace a hand under Sena’s thigh. His hand slides high, takes what weight Sena isn’t supporting on his own, and then he braces them there, pinning Sena back to the door and holding him up one-handed while he reaches for the pocket of his shorts. Sena’s gasping for air, trying to think straight even as he keeps losing focus with each of Shin’s rocking motions, and then Shin’s reaching between them, pressing the weight of a closed fist against Sena’s chest.

“Here,” he says, and Sena blinks himself into enough focus to see the bottle in Shin’s hand, the plastic of it slick with past use and the lid still closed. “Can you…?”

“Ah,” Sena says, “sure.” Untangling his arms from around Shin’s neck should be a precarious motion; it’s the only way he has to keep himself upright, after all, other than the support Shin has against his leg. But there’s the door behind him, and Shin’s as still as if he never plans to move again, and Sena needs both hands to get the bottle open and isn’t willing to let Shin go long enough to get his feet back under him. Shin leans closer, presses his mouth to the line of Sena’s shoulder, and Sena tips his head to the side without thinking, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he twists the lid off the bottle by feel instead of by sight. He’s ready to spill the lube over his own fingers, has his palm ready to catch the liquid, but Shin’s hold closes on his wrist to draw his other hand away, and when Sena blinks his vision back into focus Shin’s steady fingers are held up as if in offering. Shin’s still not lifted his head; he’s breathing hot into Sena’s t-shirt, pushing the shape of kisses into the fabric as steadily as if he’s trying to coat all Sena’s body with them, but he doesn’t even startle when Sena drips the liquid over his palm and across the calluses laid along each of the joints of his fingers. It only takes a second; then Shin is drawing away, pressing his fingers against each other with the slick sound that comes with the lubrication, and Sena is rushing to cap the bottle again before he loses track of what he’s doing. It’s a good thing he does; he’s barely got the lid back in place before Shin’s fingers are sliding between his thighs, and when the other’s slick touch bumps against his entrance Sena jerks against the door and the bottle slides from his suddenly unsteady grip. He doesn’t listen for it hitting the floor; he reaches out instead, clutching a suddenly desperate hold at Shin’s shoulder as a familiar touch presses slick liquid against his skin.

“Sena,” Shin breathes, his voice rumbling into the odd low range that always makes him sound a little like he’s praying, and Sena knows what’s coming, is easing himself into it even before Shin steadies his touch and lines his fingers up. He’s quick about it, as if there’s some kind of a rush in the action; one slick thrust and he’s knuckle-deep, the friction of his finger sliding into Sena enough to knock all Sena’s breath clear out of his lungs. Sena tenses against the friction, his reaction too reflexive to restrain, but he’s groaning too, putting voice to the heat of anticipation that flares his blood to fire in his veins as Shin’s touch slides into him. Shin makes a sound at his shoulder, a shudder of noise too low to even attempt coherency, and when he pushes in deeper Sena can feel the sensation ache low in his stomach as if Shin’s touch is aligned directly with the heat in his cock. He’s arching against the door, clinging to Shin’s neck, and Shin is pressing closer as if he’s being pulled, pinning Sena back against the door as he draws his hand back to slide in again in a long thrust of movement.

“Seijurou,” Sena manages, listening to the shape of Shin’s name strain high and aching in his throat to match the push of Shin’s finger into him. He can feel himself shaking, can feel the tremors running through his body from heat rather than the effort of their position. “Another.”

Shin pulls back by a bare handful of inches and blinks shadows from his lashes to gaze at Sena’s face. Sena can see heat cresting color over his cheekbones, can see the flush of want marking his lips to red, but his gaze is steady, solid like the rock he has always seemed to be in Sena’s eyes. “You’re sure.”

It’s only barely a question. Shin is too good at taking Sena at his word to really ask if he’s sure. But: “Yes,” Sena says, and shifts his legs to rock his hips forward against Shin’s, to shift the drag of Shin’s touch inside him and to feel how hard Shin is against the inside of his shorts. Shin’s eyelashes flutter, his throat works on a groan that doesn’t make it to sound, and Sena lets himself lean against the wall, keeps himself angled as close to Shin as he can get. “Please.”

Shin doesn’t ask again. He shifts his hold at Sena’s leg, adjusts his grip to brace the other in place; then he slides his hand back, and touches the tip of a second finger alongside the first, and Sena shudders at the first slick stretch as Shin’s fingers dip and slide into him. It’s a stretch, an ache; he can feel the push of it all the way up his spine, straining along the curve of his back and shaking in his thighs as his body protests the breadth of Shin’s fingers pushing him open. But it’s better, it’s _more_ , and when Sena opens his mouth it’s not protest he offers but “ _Yes_ ,” hot and dragging into a rumble he didn’t know he could put on his voice. Shin lets his breath out in a rush, pushes his fingers in deeper, and Sena’s eyelashes flutter, his head dropping back to land heavy against the support of the door. His legs are shaking, his cock is flushing harder, and Shin’s inside him, the stretch of his fingers slipping deeper with every breath Sena takes. It’s too much, it’s not enough, and when Sena shifts his legs it’s to tighten them around Shin’s waist, to pull the other boy in closer until Sena can feel the resistance of the other’s cock pressed hard against the underside of his own.

“Sena,” Shin breathes, and “ _More_ ,” Sena begs, and Shin moves, drawing his hand back and half-out of Sena so he can thrust in again in one long stroke of motion. Sena gasps, his body tightening involuntarily against the slick push of Shin’s fingers, and Shin’s making some sound too low to carry any meaning but appreciation. Sena’s not listening anymore, isn’t thinking about anything except for the heavy-hot stretch of Shin’s fingers urging him open. He’s clenching around Shin’s fingers in a strange, helpless rhythm, the grip of his body tightening involuntarily around the intrusion, but Shin’s not stopping, is drawing back to thrust in again with a steady-slow pattern to his motion that feels inevitable, that feels unstoppable. It makes Sena go hotter with just the idea of it, tightens a knot of want low in his stomach, and when Shin pushes back into him the ache spikes higher, unfolding itself into something far closer to desire than the pain that threatened at first.

“Seijurou,” Sena says, and Shin groans against his shoulder, pushes in farther in anticipation of what he thinks Sena wants. The friction is good, the friction arches Sena’s spine and widens his eyes, but it’s not what he wants, it’s not the answer to his unstated question. “Seijurou, stop.”

Shin stops immediately. It’s not until he’s drawing back to stare at Sena’s face that Sena’s thoughts clear enough to allow for the realization of what he must have sounded like, enough to give him the means to parse the sudden concern clear in Shin’s dark eyes. He takes a breath as Shin’s fingers drag out of him in a careful slide, tries to find words to explain himself; but in the end he’s too hot, and too hard, and it’s easier to move instead, to speak with his body instead of with his mouth. He lets one of his hands go, unwinds his arm from Shin’s neck; Shin goes still, bracing him against the door without moving in for more, and Sena reaches down between them to fit the shape of his trembling hand between the gap of their bodies. His fingers brush Shin’s t-shirt, skim over the tension along his own stomach; and then he finds the elastic of Shin’s shorts, and his fingers curl into a hold before he’s had time to think through the motion.

“Here,” he says, and then, pushing the fabric down off the sharp line of Shin’s hips: “ _please_ ,” spreading his fingers wide to push against the heat of Shin’s stomach and down. His shorts slide easy, give way with indecent haste, and then Sena’s fingers brush hot-hard skin and all his body goes electric with the first rush of heat as he feels out the shape of Shin’s cock. Shin’s eyelashes flutter, his head ducking down to cast his features into shadow, and his breath leaves him in a rush, his shoulders hunching in the first sign of strain he’s shown since pinning Sena to the wall. He’s hard to the touch, slick and swollen hot against the head; Sena presses his thumb to the soft skin, drags his touch against the damp, and Shin shudders, the movement running through his entire body until Sena can feel it even in the hand bracing under his thigh to hold him in place.

Sena takes a breath. “Here,” he says, and he sounds shaky but he feels hot, and when he moves his body arches into elegance, his hips tilting forward while he closes his fingers around the base of Shin’s cock. Shin groans faint in the back of his throat, tips himself forward in obedience to the urging of Sena’s hold, and Sena’s breathing harder but he can’t stop, can’t slow himself down enough to take a breath. The heat in his veins has too strong a hold on him, the ache in his stomach is too tense, and when he moves it’s to press closer to Shin, to drag himself nearer by his hold on the other’s neck as he guides the hot-slick head of Shin’s cock to align with his body. Shin takes a startled breath, his hand coming out to brace hard at the door, and Sena arches closer, his chest too tight on anticipation to allow him the benefit of speech. But Shin’s sighing, the sound of relief hot as a promise on his breath, and then his fingers on Sena’s leg tighten, and his hips rock forward, and his cock slides past Sena’s hold and pushes into the other’s body. Sena moans, something hot and shaky and helpless, and Shin chokes a breath and slides deeper, his fingers tensing and releasing on Sena’s leg as if to spell out the strain in his body as his hips move with the unflinching steadiness Sena’s always seen in Shin’s face. He’s hot, the width of him heavy and hard as he pushes into Sena’s body, and Sena wants it, wants this and more and harder and deeper, wants it until he’s shaking with anticipation for Shin’s next move. Shin hesitates, draws back an inch, but then he’s coming back in before Sena can think, thrusting himself forward in a rush that leaves Sena breathless and Shin groaning so hot at Sena’s shoulder it rivals the stretch inside him. Sena’s shaking, his legs trembling around Shin’s waist, but he’s talking, too, his lips forming out the shape of _yes_ and _more_ and _Seijurou_ over and over, pleas lacking the substance of voice to give them shape.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Shin understands anyway, or maybe he’s acting on his own complementary desires rather than listening to Sena’s; the cause doesn’t matter, Sena thinks dizzily, not when the result is Shin thrusting into him so hard the door creaks in its frame. Sena gasps air, clutches desperately at Shin’s shoulder, and Shin moves again, turning his head in to press his cheek warm to Sena’s as he thrusts into him. Sena’s staring at nothing, his vision unfocused and unimportant to his awareness at the moment; even the ache in his legs is falling hazy into the distance, rendered inconsequential by the stretch and ache of Shin filling him, of Shin’s hands and Shin’s shoulders bracing him back against the door. Shin’s gasping against Sena’s cheek, straining for air so hard the effort ruffles the other’s hair, and when Sena moves it’s an unstudied thing, a turn of his head and a part of his lips and then his mouth on Shin’s, his lips finding the shape of the other boy’s as easily as if they were meant to come together. This time when Shin groans Sena can taste it on his tongue, can feel the rush of heat from the sound surge hot into his cock, and when Sena chokes and whines Shin lets his brace on the door go, trusts them both to the press of Sena’s shoulders while he drops his slick hand to close around Sena’s length. His palm is hot, his hold strong, and Sena jerks with just the promise of friction even before Shin drags up over him in a rush of motion that takes all Sena’s coherency with it. Sena can feel the sensation unravel his thoughts, can all but see his focus evaporating from his vision, and then he’s moaning into Shin’s mouth, fisting his fingers into a hold on the other’s dark hair and rocking himself forward to thrust into Shin’s hand or push further onto Shin’s cock, he’s not sure which and doesn’t care. It’s the friction he needs, the heat of motion to stoke the fire in his veins, and when Shin rolls his hips forward in a long slide of movement all Sena can do is gasp appreciation as Shin’s cock sinks into him. Shin makes a noise, something low and raw and utterly incoherent, and then his hand is tightening and Sena can’t even tell if he’s moving anymore, can’t track the stroke of Shin’s hand over his cock as separate from the drive of the other fucking up into him. It’s all the same thing, it all means heat in his veins and a stutter in his breathing, pressure on his chest until every inhale is a battle, every breath a victory hard-won against the tension in his body.

“Seijurou,” Sena manages, not sure what he’s saying and less sure why. “Seijurou, I.”

“Yeah,” Shin says, his voice hot at Sena’s shoulder and strained like Sena’s never heard it, edging into a high range of effort that makes him sound younger than he usually does, makes him seem uncertain and desperate in a way that ignites electricity under all Sena’s skin. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” Sena says, and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to but then Shin pushes in against the head of his cock and drags his thumb rough against the sensitive skin, and Sena’s arching off the door as every muscle in his body clenches tight for a breathless moment of anticipation. His vision goes still, his thoughts steady and smooth, and for a heartbeat he has the presence of mind to think _I’m going to come_ , and then, fast: _that’s what he meant_. Then his orgasm hits him, sweeping away anything like rationality before it, and Sena’s groaning, shaking against the door as the drag of Shin’s hand draws him through convulsive shudders of pleasure. Shin’s still moving, still thrusting into him with each quiver of sensation; it feels good, to have the stretch of him to clench down on, to have the friction of his motion pulling Sena’s orgasm hot and shaky and endless. For a minute Sena thinks he’s going to come forever, pinned back against Shin’s front door and held in a never-ending series of aftershocks jolting through his body, but then Shin lets his cock go and grabs for his hip instead, his hand seizing into a hold so desperate Sena realizes what’s happening a moment before Shin groans “Sena, I’m going--” into the off-center collar of his shirt. Sena sucks in a breath, his body tensing in anticipation, and Shin jerks and thrusts hard into him, spilling a gasping exhale at Sena’s shoulder as his cock spills heat into the other boy. Sena can feel Shin shaking against him, can feel the steady support of his arms giving way to tremors as he comes, and he shivers through the last of his own aftershocks just as Shin loosens the too-tight hold he has on Sena’s hip into a gentle touch instead.

“God,” he says against Sena’s shoulder. He’s still breathing hard, still trembling on alternate breaths, but his supporting hands are so steady even Sena’s instinct doesn’t balk at relying on their hold. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Sena manages, even attaining something like an ordinary tone for his agreement. “It was.”

Shin’s hand shifts, his touch sliding along the line of Sena’s thigh like he’s tracing the shape of the muscle under the skin. Sena shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the door so he can focus on the texture of Shin’s fingers on his skin.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Shin asks. “We can be in the bedroom later.”

“Oh,” Sena says, his whole body flashing briefly warm at the promise written under that _later_. “No, I don’t mind.”

Shin pulls away from his shoulder and lifts his chin to meet Sena’s gaze. His eyes are dark, unfathomable; Sena could stare into them for a lifetime and still have no guess as to the other’s thoughts. Then Shin smiles, and Sena’s breath catches, and he thinks he doesn’t need to guess after all.

“Let’s take a shower,” Shin says, leaning forward to bump his forehead to Sena’s for a moment before shifting his hold and easing Sena down from the support of the door and onto his own feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sena insists, even if his legs are a little shaky and his whole body is radiant with excess heat. “A shower sounds great.”

Shin nods. “Good,” he says, his expression falling into the stoic lines it always takes on when he doesn’t think about it. He tugs his shorts back around his hips, the movement careless and unashamed, and then he’s reaching for Sena’s hand to interlace their fingers. “This way.”

He sounds calm. There’s no tremble in his voice, no smile on his face. A stranger would think him distant or disinterested, Sena thinks. But Shin’s hand is hot in his, and when the other’s fingers tense to squeeze against Sena’s hand, Sena doesn’t need to see a smile to understand the affection in the touch.


End file.
